putting baby in a corner
by nericearren
Summary: It's not stalking, it's just . . . stealthily following. And no, he doesn't care where Jackie's going(or, "Harvar's getting pretty good at this denial thing").
1. Jackie Gets Snot On My Favorite Shirt

One-Jacqueline Gets Snot On My Favorite Shirt

"And then I was saying that she should just go out with the other guy, y'know . . ." Kim slurped her strawberry milk in the most unladylike way that I've ever witnessed, while my best friend, Ox, who is both the smartest and dumbest person in the world, stared at her as if she had just discovered the moon. Or peanut butter.

I slouched deeper in my seat, doing my utmost to not roll my eyes. I don't usually have trouble keeping my internal thoughts from becoming external, so this says a lot about the form of torture that I was having to endure. I would die for Ox, but being his wingman after he already got the girl?

So. Freaking. Lame.

"But she said she just cheated with him to make herself feel better about her boyfriend checking _me_ out-which was a total misunderstanding!" Kim hastened to add, sensing Ox's coming explosion before even I did.

"He was checking me out," Jackie cut in smugly. "Which, really, isn't much better." She tossed her dark brown hair over her shoulders, leaning in to steal a sip of her best friend's shake.

"The point is, he was ogling someone else," Kim went on, as if either of her audience members gave a rat's ass. I was ready to drive stakes through my ears if it would ensure that I wouldn't have to hear another word. I wasn't really one for polite conversation, let alone gossip that had nothing to do with grades or missions.

And then there was the fact that Kim was a witch. I might not have held that alone against her, since Lord Death himself trusted her at the Academy and I wasn't one to question orders, but her actions hadn't made her suspicious. I wouldn't trust any student who had run away to join an enemy faction, witch or no. It just didn't make sense.

I was sickened, too, by how _normal_ both Kim and Jackie acted about the whole thing, as if they'd just gone on vacation or something. It unnerved me that anyone could switch sides so quickly and so often. And, yes, that they were both girls had me less than pleased, as well. The giggling and the gossiping and the hair-flipping and perfume and-ugh. Murder would be doing me a favor.

Jackie caught my eye, and smirked as though she guessed what I was thinking. Jerking her head towards the door, she eased out of her chair and announced, "I'm heading out for a sec." The lovebirds-i.e., Kim and Ox-barely noticed her exit.

Both grateful for a chance of escape and wary of leaving my meister alone with his greatest temptation(though I knew the witch could take care of herself), I debated for a second before following Jackie. The debate didn't last long-the cafe looked like the result of a love child between Cupid and Martha Stewart that was raised in the sixties and had a deep-seated and disturbing love for kittens and cotton candy and I would have taken any excuse to leave just so that I could breathe in oxygen instead of glitter for a while.

"Whew," Jackie exhaled once we were outside, sounding as relieved as I felt. "That was, like, worse than facing down demons. I'd take kishin hunting any day."

I grunted, I think. I don't remember. I don't think I said anything; not really my MO. Jackie fished around in her jeans' pockets for a minute and then pulled out, to my mild surprise, a pack of cigarettes.

Lantern. Duh.

She politely offered me one before lighting up. I declined.

"Don't tell Kim," she told me, releasing a stream of smoke into the rapidly darkening evening. The street was nearly empty, and the air filled with the crisp smell that promised hot summer nights soon but nipped at ears and noses until then. "She thinks that I quit."

I almost reacted to that-the witch had an objection to her partner _smoking_? Which was worse, in the grand scheme of things?-but refrained. Pointless conversations only led to more girls thinking that they were friends with me.

And then a voice that certainly couldn't be mine was asking, "Why didn't you?"

If she was startled that I'd spoken(or that the bizarre creature that had taken over my mind had exercised my vocal chords), she didn't show it, leaning back against the half-wall surrounding the cafe and taking another drag. "Stress, mostly. Her taking me to places like the Cookie Explosion." She gestured to the building behind her, her face telling me exactly what she thought of volatile baked goods.

"Maybe I will take a smoke," the not-me said, moving forwards to claim a Marlboro Menthol Gold. Jackie frowned at me. "And maybe I should charge you-it's ten cents a light."

"Don't offer if you're not gonna follow through," I muttered, and she laughed, chocolate hair falling over her bare shoulders as she tilted her head back.

I wasn't noticing, or anything.

"I was kidding," she reassured me, and held out her index finger. I eyed it questioningly, and she impatiently jabbed it towards the end of my cigarette. Her nail briefly flared, igniting the end, and then she drew her hand back.

I looked at the now-smoldering cig with something approaching impressment, and took a drag.

Since it had been at least seven months since the last time I smoked, I nearly coughed. It was only by exercising every ounce of control that I had that I didn't. Jackie observed me with a half-smile, but didn't mock me, even though she would have been perfectly in the right.

"Anyway, it's not like I'm not used to it," Jackie said after we'd been smoking in silence for a while. I thought she was talking about the nicotine, until I saw the glance she shot over her shoulder at Kim and Ox. "Her dragging me places to boyfriend screen."

I nodded. What could I say to that?

"It's like, can't you make the judgment yourself?" Jackie complained, waving her free hand around like the world disgusted her. Her wrists were thin, the carpal bones forming knobs on the outer sides of her slim arms. The effect was more delicate than bony, and it looked strange to see such an elegant hand holding something so human as a cigarette.

_Geez_, I thought at once. _Doubling up on your weird shit pills today or what?_ I didn't think about girls, as a rule. I sure didn't think half-poetic crap about them, or anyone, or anything. It's just ridiculous. And useless. And I didn't do it. Ever.

"You're the one who freaking decided to date him," Jackie went on, slipping into girl-yammer mode, an affected valley girl accent bleeding into her usual matter-of-fact drawl. Her hands were gesturing a mile a minute, both of them now, her cigarette threatening to go out as she waved it through air that had turned definitely chilly. The sun was barely peeking out from behind the nearest building, and the sky was purple-gray, transitioning quickly to blackness. We were going to miss curfew, if Ox and Kim didn't quit their Romeo and Juliet act soon.

"You're, like, old enough to decide if a guy's good for you or not." Jackie shrugged and took a drag. "I'm over it. All of it. Dating, guys, and being best friends with someone who's obsessed with both."

She took my impartial glance for one of concern or sympathy or something, because she went on blathering like I'd just said something kind; which suited me alright because then I didn't have to actually come _up_ with something kind. The only thing I could think of was along the lines of "I don't really care. I'm just listening because I bummed a cigarette off of you and it's the nice thing to do." I didn't have much experience with girls, but I knew that wouldn't go over well, even if Jackie did seem, after a while, kind of cool.

"Don't get me wrong-she's still my best friend, and I love her to death," she explained, as if I would think less of her or she cared if I thought less of her. Girls, I thought, were so much better at pretending that things like that mattered. "I'm just sick of listening to her every time she gets a new crush."

"Jealous?" I have this gift for saying the exact most jack-assy thing that could be said in a given situation. It was exercised right then.

Jackie shot me a look full of venom, and snubbed out her smoke on the wall next to her. "Shut up."

Amazing. I say one word in that entire conversation, and she tells me to shut up.

_I think I like this girl_.

"Anyway, it's not like it's forever. Kim'll settle down one day, and then I'll only have to hear about _one_ guy all the time, not six-bajillion."

"Six-bajillion isn't a number," I pointed out.

"I _know_ that," Jackie glared. "And, no, Mr. Too-Cool-To-Look-At-Me, I'm not _jealous_," she went on, sarcasm fully operational. "I hate men, and I hate men like you the most."

Now, I was just standing there. I wasn't even doing anything. And yet she attacked me.

_Again, I like this girl._

I shot her my best I-don't-give-two-flying-cats'-tails-what-you-think look, and she laughed. Actually laughed, at a look that has sent far scarier adversaries scuttling for their Lunchables. "That's exactly what I mean. You don't _do_ anything-you just hover around like a creep, thinking those sunglasses make you look badass."

No, me being the smartest and strongest weapon in school, paired with the smartest and strongest meister in school, makes me badass. _But let's not split hairs_.

"They do." The not-me was back, and it almost smiled at Jackie before I got control again. What was the matter with me? Talking back and everything. I had to be careful; she might start liking me, too, and then I'd be obligated to be _nice_ all the time, and when I inevitably failed at that, she would hate me and Kim would dump Ox out of solidarity and I would officially be the worst wingman in the history of the world.

Jackie, oblivious to my mental struggles, laughed-I was beginning to think of her laugh as not irritating, just mildly grating on the nerves-just as Ox and Kim emerged from the cafe behind us, chatting at nearly the speed of light. Lots of giggles and flirting(sadly, mostly from Ox)and all that yummy stuff. Jackie rolled her eyes at me, then slapped a big, obviously faked smile on her face as our mutual friends approached.

"So this is where you've been hiding," Kim said, all cheerful and crap and making me kind of sick to my stomach. "Wanted some alone time, did you?" She winked very conspicuously at Jackie, who groaned. "I promise you," she said, turning to me as if I actually was a part of the group and not just an unwillingly dragged along wingman. "She is not usually this nauseating. In fact, she can even pass for smart if she isn't totally infatuated with someone."

Kim blushed and squealed, "Stop it!", hanging on to Ox's arm like a life raft. Jackie shot me a look like, _see what I mean?_.

I crossed my arms. "We're going to miss curfew. We should go."

Ox, snapped out of his happy dating life by the reality of school, straightened. "That can't happen!" He grabbed Kim's hand, a look of scary determination on his face. "Let's run, my love!"

They ran, leaving Jackie and me in the dust. I wish I could say it was the first time this happened, but no. Jacqueline and I had kept silent, awkward company on many nights while walking back to the dorms. We were more or less used to it.

Jackie sighed and stuck her hands in her pockets.

"Did he just call her 'my love'?" I deadpanned.

"Unfortunately, yes." Jackie jiggled her leg and glanced up and down the street. Nervous behavior. "Look, uh, tell Kim that I went home a different way or something, okay? Um, no, wait-say I'm staying over at a friend's house . . . Shannon's or someone's. I gotta go."

I should have probably asked. It wasn't any of my business, though, so I just gave a noncommittal shrug and went to brush past her.

Jackie grabbed my arm, fingers tight around my bicep, surprising strength in the doll-delicate hands I'd been subconsciously admiring(no, not admiring, not anywhere close to that)seconds before. "Tell her, okay?"

"Mm."

"I'm serious, Harvar. Tell her I went to Shannon's. It's important."

Looking down into her brown eyes, I was compelled to ask. "Why?"

She huffed. "Because I just gave you a Marlboro, that's why-"

"Why are you lying to Kim?" Because I would be damned if she was sleeping over _Shannon's_, whoever the hell that was.

"Oh. Um." Jackie let go of my arm and stepped back, her eyes dropping to the pavement, where she scuffed one worn flip-flop and mentally ran through a list of lies that she could tell that would convince me. I waited. "I just am-I need a break, from all that crap I was telling you about earlier-"

I folded my arms. "What about the crap that you're telling me now?"

She flushed. "Okay, caught. Fine, I'm going to meet someone, and if you dare tell, I will-"

I held up my hand, silencing her. "Whatever. I don't care. Just wanted to know why I'm lying." I waited to see if she had any more inane requests, but apparently her quota for the day was used up. I ducked my head in a sort-of civil goodbye and made it past her for real.

"Thanks!" she called after me.

I shook my head. Like I had said, I didn't care.

I wasn't curious.

Nope.

So, even though it would probably land me on the Shibusen Stalker list(and, yes, we have one of those, and yes, half the student body and at least one psychotic teacher with a daughter complex has made the list), I ended up following Jackie to wherever she was meeting this "someone". Ducking down alleyways, around corners, the whole deal, all the while telling myself that I was, in a very distant way, just looking out for Ox's happiness. If Jackie was safe, then Kim was happy; if Kim was happy, then my meister was over the moon. If I thought about it long enough, it made sense, and I didn't have to admit to any actual feeling towards Jackie and her mysterious someone. Which was good, because I didn't have them.

I followed her all the way back to the school, where I felt my first prickle of genuine, non-suspicious interest. Why would she lie about not going to the school when she wanted me to lie about her already going to the school to our friends? When she was, actually, going to the school in the first place? Even for a girl, that was pretty convoluted.

She waited outside until it was well and truly dark, and my phone was buzzing nonstop with texts from Ox, who would not be put off by my brusque _I'm busy_ replies. It was definitely after curfew. I wondered who she would be meeting, and the answer came almost at once, despite every evidence to the contrary that she'd given me. She was meeting a guy(had to be)-for a date, or "make-out" session. I shouldn't have felt anything about it, but I did. I had the slightest twinge(barely a flicker, barely worth mention)of disconcertion. Like, maybe it bothered me or something. But it really, truly didn't. I was being objective, cross-analyzing myself as I would have done with others, and finding insufficient evidence that I should in any way be bothered. Perhaps if I was struck with an obsession, like my unfortunate best friend, but I'm not so out of touch with my own heart that I wouldn't know such a thing.

Finally, Jackie was approached by a someone, and the someone was a boy, and I was unprepared by the overwhelming urge to crush him that seized me. I could slam his head into the pavement, maybe, or swing him by the legs into the nearest wall . . . hanging him from one of Shibusen's spires by his just-visible tighty whities would be fun, too. But that was totally irrational, obsession or not.

The guy was average build, coloring, and etc., and if it weren't for the fact that he was wearing one of our seven school uniforms, I wouldn't believe that he was a student at the Academy at all. He looked so . . . ordinary. He greeted Jackie, and the two of them lit up cigarettes. I wondered if she was aware of the damage that constant smoking had on her health-and surely she couldn't manage to be a pack-a-day and still keep Kim in the dark about it?

After that, the two of them started kissing. And stuff. I started to feel like a real pervert, watching them carry on, and it just got worse, until I wanted to scream at them to get a room and save my damn eyes before they melted.

The guy said something in a low murmur. His back was to me, and I could just see Jackie's face over his shoulder. It was pale, uncertain, but after a pause she nodded and they started heading off down the street. Not about to give up already, I trailed after them.

They walked for a few blocks, Jackie a couple of steps behind her male friend-I didn't want to think of him as a "boyfriend", for some reason-until they came to a hotel.

Seriously. They had to be kidding me.

No, no, no, no, no-the word spiraled around my head until I realized that I was whispering it under my breath, too. Every single one of my brain cells was rejecting the idea of Jackie going into a hotel with that creep, and I couldn't explain why, only that it annoyed me because not half an hour ago she was going on to me about how she was done with guys and dating, yet here she was. With a guy, and dating.

If a cheap hotel could be called a date.

My feet were speeding up; if I wasn't careful, they'd see me. What would I say then? I forced myself to slow down and think rationally. It was none of my business, what Jacqueline wanted to do in her free time. It was none of my business that she obviously intended to spend the night with a boy who was clearly too old, too experienced, and too hair-gelled to deserve her time.

I didn't care.

All I had to do was turn around and go back to the dorm; Ox was waiting, and it was long past curfew, and I would be damned if stalking Jackie Dupre got me landed in detention. The situation was embarrassing enough without me having to explain myself.

But then I noticed how her steps were lagging, how she kept glancing up at the hotel with reluctance. I tasted ash on my tongue; unconsciously, I sped up again.

"Jackie."

She stopped, turned. Her whole face dawned with shock. "Harvar, what-what the hell are you doing? Did you _follow_ me?"

"Are you going in with him?" I gestured to the building before us.

"Th-that-that's none of your business!" she spluttered, which was as much as I had guessed.

"It's against school rules," I improvised. "That makes it my business." She looked skeptical, so I kept talking. "As members of Spartoi, we are supposed to be an example to the rest of the school. If even the elite teams are breaking the rules, what's to stop everyone from rebelling?"

Jackie's male friend(_still_ not thinking boyfriend, not even if you paid me)came up to us, clearly confused and a little annoyed. "Whats going on? Who are you?" He looked at me as though he'd never been aware of my existence, and I gritted my teeth so that I wouldn't say something out of line. His very face was a blight to my eyes.

"This is Harvar; he's a classmate," Jackie explained rapidly. "He was just leaving."

No, I wasn't. "No, I wasn't," I said.

"He _was_," she said pointedly, glaring at me.

"I don't really care, baby," the guy whined. "Let's just go in already." Casting a suspicious glance at me, he added in an undertone, "Haven't you kept me waiting long enough?"

I moved forwards, instinctively placing myself between them. "She isn't required to sleep with you," I pointed out.

"She's my _girlfriend_," he said obstinately. "What else is she good for?"

I wish that I could say that I punched him; unfortunately, the honor goes to Jacqueline, who socked him so hard that he turned half a somersault in midair before landing on his rear end, Peanuts style. She then stormed off, back in the direction of the school, and I sprinted after her.

"I am not thanking you!" she shouted at me, whirling around after we were a good distance away from the hotel. "You had no right to interfere!"

I stared at her, and then rolled my eyes. I hadn't been looking for a thank you, anyway. It was all her fault to begin with, for getting involved with a jerkoff like that.

"And I was going to break up with him anyway!" she screamed. "And why did you follow me? And why did you care?! Maybe I wanted to have sex with him, huh?! Maybe I didn't want to hear something like that from him, did you ever think about that?"

I didn't understand. Either she was going to break up with him, or she wasn't and didn't want to be hurt by his uncaring. She couldn't be mad at me for both; she shouldn't be mad at me for either. "I didn't do anything," I finally said, when it became clear that she wanted to hear _something_ from me.

"You were _there_!" She battered me with her fists, face scrunching up. Abruptly, she began to cry. "Why were you there?" she sobbed.

In the movies, male protagonists fearlessly embrace sobbing princesses; but Jackie was no princess and I wasn't comfortable patting her back, let alone hugging her. I settled for pulling a crumpled pack of tissues from my pocket and offering her one. She took it, a half-smile breaking through her tears. "Of c-course you have tissues," she mumbled.

Obviously. Always be prepared.

"In just a few seconds, you ruined my entire relationship," she accused after a period of awkward standing and crying(I was standing; she was crying. While sitting on a curb. Very dramatic stuff).

"Last I checked, it was the other guy who was the asshole that just wanted to get in your pants," I observed.

"Shut up!" Jackie stood up and went to hit me again; this time, I dodged. There were only so many blows for the good of humanity that I could take before my patience ran out. "Alan is a _good_ guy, a _normal_ guy!"

"Then why aren't you sniveling to him?!" I snapped. "Why isn't he the prick standing here uselessly while you whine?" I couldn't say why it got to me so bad-only that it did, and that Jackie's face darkened and I remembered that she could probably burn me to a crisp if the fancy took her.

"You're horrible!" she said, words choked by frustration and tears. "Why are you so horrible?"

I shrugged. "Go on. Take your anger out on me."

"I hate you!" she screamed, and somehow that made her seem the victim for the first time that whole evening. The girl who had confidently mocked me about wearing sunglasses and lit up my cigarette with a flick of her finger was gone; in her place was someone sad and, if I was honest, pathetic.

I gave in, finally, to the movie-cliche urge to hug the crying heroine. I fully expected her to resist, maybe sock me into the nearest building or char me into something to roast marshmallows over, but instead she flung her arms around me, digging her fingers into the back of my jacket and starting a full-on sob that convinced me that she'd only been warming up before.

Girls. All I can say.

I sort of patted her back, matting down her long hair with one of my hands, which suddenly seemed so large in comparison to the girl with her cheek on my chest. I never thought I was a particularly big guy before, or that Jackie was small(her attitude more than made up for it), but standing so close, I practically felt like the Hulk. The moon mocked us overhead, us two teenagers who had no idea what we wanted or how to get it, and I glared up at the moon with half of a mind to tell it that, if it really wanted a laugh, then maybe it should come on down and try to be one of us for a change. I was thinking crazy, of course; but when during the night hadn't I been?

Bells tolled out the hour, and on the ground, I patted Jackie's back and waited for the crying to abate. I couldn't be certain, but I thought we had probably missed our curfew.


	2. Harvar Freaks Over Wrinkles

_a/n-THIS IS A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT. a) Sorry for the really long chapter. b) I forgot to accredit the inspiration for this stupid story to Hum Hallelujah(Fall Out Boy) and Coco(Gregory and the Hawk). What do those two songs have to do with Harvar and Jackie? . . . um, nothing. _:)_ Enjoy._

Two-Harvar Freaks Out Over Wrinkles

Light danced in through the window, and for a second I was absolutely terrified.

An extremely _male_ voice groaned as if just waking up, making my terror complete. My eyes closed against the appearance of the bedroom I didn't recognize and I involuntarily muttered something to the like of, "dear Death, tell me I'm dreaming."

Something creaked, and I opened my eyes again to see someone getting out of a bed opposite mine. His head was down, but I recognized the dark blue waffle-weave shirt. "Harvar?"

He turned his head to look down at me. "Oh. You're here." He sounded about as excited about that as I felt. I sat up and clutched the blanket of the bed to my (thankfully)clothed chest. "What the hell happened?"

He shrugged, which I was coming to see as his default answer to everything, and started rummaging through the drawers of a clothes chest. I looked around, realizing that I was in the dorm room that he shared with Ox. It was the first time I'd been there without Kim around to act as a buffer; even if I hadn't been in Ox's bed, I would have been freaked out.

"Did we have sex?" I blurted out, hoping that Harvar wouldn't be his usual nonverbal self about answering.

He froze almost comically, entire body going stiff before he deliberately laid down the shirt he was picking out, closed the dresser drawer, and said, "No." The slam of wood against wood punctuated his reply.

I did a quick scan of my clothes and body-everything seemed in order, so I guessed he was telling the truth. Well, duh. Harvar was about as sexual as a geranium. And I was in a different bed from him. What can I say-I jump to the worst conclusions.

"The last thing I remember is crying," I hinted, hoping to garner some kind of explanation about, oh, I don't know, _what I was doing in his room_.

Harvar nodded absently. He was holding a plastic clothes hanger up to eye level and slipping it through the collar of the t-shirt in his other hand. While I watched, he pulled a tiny pink bag out from under his bed and unzipped it.

I guessed that was all I was going to get for the time being. Oh, well. It wasn't like I was actually expecting answers out of Tall, Dark, and Chronically Stoic.

Harvar took two pink plastic things out of the bag-one was shaped like a pot, with a handle and a mouth like a water bottle without its cap, and the other looked the the head of an old-fashioned vacuum cleaner, the kind with the hose. Harvar disappeared into an adjoining room that I guessed was the bathroom, and came back with the pot filled about half-way with water. Then he screwed the vacuum-head onto the bottle top and attached a power cord to the bottom. He then plugged the whole thing in.

My curiosity got the better of me. "What _is_ that?"

"Miss Housewife Portable Steamer," he replied. With a straight face, I might add. "Ox got it for Christmas from his mother."

"What does it _do_?"

Just then, the-what was it? Miss Housewife something-it started making a keening noise like a pot coming to a boil. Steam poured from the vacuum head, and Harvar held his shirt up by the hanger with one hand while, with the other, he ran the steamer over the fabric. "It's like an iron," he explained, apparently more talkative about his cleaning supplies than, say, why he dragged hapless crying girls to his bed(which sounds really bad when I put it that way).

I wanted to laugh. There was something about badass Harver, wielding that tiny pink steamer as if it was his only hope against a world full of wrinkled clothing, that just struck me as hilarious. What was next-a ruffled apron? I snorted at the idea of Harvar in the getup of a 1950s housewife, and fell back into the bed to muffle any further chuckles with my pillow before he noticed and took offense.

The sheets smelled like Ox, which sobered me up right away. There's nothing more of a turn-off than your best friend's boyfriend's cologne. Trust me-it's gross. And as soon as _that_ dawned on me, I realized that this was _Ox's bed_ and he very well might have been making out with Kim on it. And stuff.

I sat up quickly, resisting the urge to bolt out the door and take a shower in bleach. "Seriously, how did I get here?"

Harvar said abruptly at the same time, "Take off your clothes."

"What?" I shrieked, before remembering I was in the boys' dorms and likely to get both of us in trouble if I raged in indignant fury quite so loud. My ears were probably steaming, though; I know that my fingers scorched tiny holes in the sheets, like ten identical cigarette burns.

Cigarettes. I would have _died_ for a smoke right then.

Harvar gave an impatient sigh. "Not _all_ of them." He brandished the steamer at me. "Or do you want it to be immediately obvious that you're wearing the same thing that you did yesterday?"

Oh. Right. I slid out of bed and eyed my jeans and tank top. They weren't really wrinkled. "How about I just borrow one of your shirts? Because, really, aside from the tank nobody would be able to tell."

He sighed again. "Ox would know."

"It would be for, like, half and hour," I promised. "Just long enough for me to run to my dorm and lie to-explain to Kim what happened." Which he still hadn't fully explained and I still couldn't fully remember. I just remember a lot of crying, and the feeling that I was somewhere quiet and safe.

He dug around in his drawers for a long while until he pulled out a red button-down shirt, which he insisted on steaming before giving to me. Well, "insisted" implies that he actually said something about it-really he just did it, impervious to my eye-rolling and foot-tapping. I found my shoes, lined up neatly at the foot of the bed, and put them on while I was waiting. Finally, he handed the now-crisp shirt over with apparent reluctance.

It was only then that something registered in my mind. "Where is Ox, anyway?" I looked around, ridiculously, as if he was hiding under a pile of magazines or in the laundry hamper.

"It's Saturday," Harvar said, like that explained everything. I gave him a look, and he elaborated, acting like I was wasting his precious time. "He stays with his parents on the weekends." He paused, then added, "Sometimes." As if that distinction was important.

"Oh." I opened the door a crack and surveyed the hallway. It was mostly empty, but I didn't like the look of a couple of the first-year boys at the end of the hall.

"You could creep out the window," Harvar suggested, and I jumped. He had been so quiet when approaching me that I hadn't noticed any movement or sensed his presence. Now he was standing behind me, close enough to peer over my head and out the door. If I stepped back just once, I would be pressed against his chest, feeling the same muscles that had been my sounding board last night. My body flooded with heat.

Ugh. What was wrong with me? I had a perfectly good boyfriend, and there I was checking out the last person on earth who would be interested in me, and the last person that I should be interested in, as well. I mean, dating your best friend's boyfriend's best friend is super-tacky and reserved solely for girls in Barbie movies who have double weddings with their sisters.

Then I realized something else, and the surprise was enough to make me whirl around, proximity or not, and jab a finger at Harvar's chest. "You just made a joke, didn't you?"

He ignored me. "Just act like you came over extremely early in the morning."

"Because _that's_ normal."

No answer. Harvar walked away from me, stripping off yesterday's shirt without compunction. He'd probably forgotten, already, that I was there.

I hadn't, and I quickly clicked the door shut again, leaning against it to prevent some curious boy from coming in at the wrong time and getting the wrong idea. I slipped Harvar's shirt on over my tank top and brushed my fingers through my hair while watching him put on deodorant, change clothes, and comb his hair out of my peripherals-and no, I wasn't peeking at his abs. Much.

Finally, Harvar came over and opened the door, holding it wide so that there was no chance of either of us ducking back into the room out of cowardice. He looked expectantly at me.

Oookaaay.

It took me a long five seconds to realize that he was holding the door open for me. _Whoops_. I slipped out, glad to see that the boys were gone, and started walking purposefully down the hall, composing my story in my head if I was stopped by anyone. I'd woken up early-_really_ early-just dying to figure out this assignment that I didn't understand. I'd come to ask Ox for help, but he wasn't there, and then-

"Jackie." It was probably the first time that I'd heard Harvar say my name-my actual, friend-given name, not the impersonal "Jacqueline". I wasn't really prepared for the way my stomach lurched. I would have been cool with him, if he weren't so damn scary, and didn't have such a damn scary voice to go along with it.

I half-turned. "What? You want my number?"

Naturally, the joke went over his head. "I already have your number. You're going the wrong way," he told me, jerking his head towards the other end of the hall, where a giant picture window had fooled me into thinking it was just a dead end. On closer inspection, the hall veered to the right.

"Oh." I reversed direction, and when I passed him, he fell into step with me.

If I'd expected conversation, I would have been disappointed. I wasn't really in a chipper talky mood, anyway, so things were kind of dead as Harvar led me out of the boys' dorms.

The courtyard between the two dorm buildings hadn't filled up with students yet; it was too early on a Saturday for most teenagers to have emerged from their cocoons of blankets an pillows. I thought wishfully on my own bed and, before Harvar could disappear to wherever freak jobs with no life disappear to, I asked again, as casually as I could manage, "So, what happened last night, anyway?"

Pause. Then, levelly, "You were upset."

No, really, Sherlock? I thought that I had just been yelling at him because I enjoyed it. Which I did, but that's besides the point.

"I'm just trying to figure out how I ended up in Ox's bed!" I snapped. I'd forgotten that it was best to be direct when dealing with literal-minded Harvar.

"Oh." If I didn't know better, I would have sworn that his ears were turning red. But impassive rock walls of people don't have emotions like embarrassment. "You fell asleep."

Yeah, I had guessed that. What I wanted to know was why he hadn't brought me to my own dorm like any sane person would have. Whatever. I shook my head, let it go, and said, "Thanks."

But he was already gone.

You can bet that Kim bombarded me with questions, not the least of which was my fashion choices. Away from her boyfriend, her nicey-nicey behavior was officially off, and she was back to her usual(hardcore)self.

"You better still be a virgin!" was her opening line, just seconds after I slipped into our room.

I sighed, having expected as much, and rolled my eyes. "Yes, Kim, I am." It was ironic, how concerned she was over my virginity when her own was so questionable; but whenever I brought that up, she had a tendency to hit me with whatever was in her hand at the time. Since she was, at that moment, holding her Pre-Calc book, I didn't risk commenting that morning.

I unbuttoned the shirt, too concerned with fending off my best friend's wave of nosy questions to associate the funny feeling in my heart with reluctance to be rid of the garment. Wearing it, it felt like I belonged to someone, like I had a part of them-but it didn't really mean anything. Harvar and I were barely acquaintances.

"-and where did you get that?" Kim wound down the tirade that I hadn't really been listening to and pointed at the shirt now tossed carelessly on my bed.

"It's Harvar's." I said, mock cool, knowing that it would drive her nuts.

It did.

"Whaaaat?!" Her shriek was heard in China, I'm sure. "You slept with _Harvar_?"

"For crying out loud-I didn't sleep with anyone! Is that all you ever think about?!" I shrieked back, and we both clammed up, waiting to see if the dorm head-a fat and bad-tempered woman who was jealous of pretty much all of her charges-would come hollering at us to 'shut the 'ell up b'cause she needed 'er beauty rest, dammit!'.

"Well, why do you have it, then?" Kim asked, once it became apparent that we had escaped the Wrath Of The Mud-Masked Matron.

I sat on the bed. To explain would mean to tell her that I had fallen asleep crying, which I only did when I was _really_ upset, and then she would want to know why, and once she knew why she would be angry with me for not telling her earlier that I had a boyfriend, _and_ she would slip in another lecture on virginity because she wouldn't believe that I hadn't gone into the hotel with him, and all in all it would be a helluva big deal over something that was really small small small, and so-I lied.

It was simple to do, actually. "After you and Ox ran off into the sunset, Harvar and I started talking. Arguing, really, and I got so upset that I tried to jump him. He knocked me out by accident-in self defense!" I hastened to add, seeing her gear up for a weapon-hunt. "He felt bad, but he didn't want to have to explain to our frankly scary matron what he'd done so he took me back to his room. Sweet and all, but you know guys; totally clueless. He didn't realize that people would think . . . would think what you did, about us being together. So I swiped one of his shirts in an effort to pretend that I'm wearing different clothes and dashed over here."

"Poor thing," Kim sympathized. "Did it hurt?"

"Did wh-Kim, I _didn't_ sleep with him!" I snapped.

"I meant being knocked out, you pervy idiot!" she yelled back. "You're lying, aren't you?! You slept with him!"

There was no winning.

For breakfast, we went down to the outdoor pavilion where a lot of students ate their meals; there was a snack shack up against the near wall, and the rest of the enclosed area was full of iron-wrought table-and-chair sets, patio umbrellas, and intricate stonework.

"So, Ox is gone," Kim finally wound down after forty straight minutes of talking, taking a giant bite of eggs and bacon.

"I know." I was eating a bowl questionable oatmeal that morning, too busy trying to decide if the gray lumps were raisins or moth larvae to check my words. "He went to his parents', right?"

Kim gave me a suspicious look. "How do you know that?"

I shrugged, caught revealing more than I probably should have. "Harvar told me."

Kim slanted her eyes at me, tilting up her chin, her mouth tightening. One eyebrow inched its skeptic way up to her hairline. "Riiiight. You and Harvar are best buds now," she said archly. "Explain that to me."

"It's nothing." I peeled the top off of a container of yogurt. "Nothing to explain."

"Mm-hmm." She was totally unconvinced. That's the problem with having a best friend who knows you back to front; your lies never work half as well as you want them to, unless you don't want them to. If that makes sense. "Jacks, you _never_ get upset enough to attack someone. Ever. He must have really gotten under your skin for you to go off on him. Or is something else the matter?"

"Everything's fine," I lied firmly. "Except that this oatmeal is lumpy, Harvar is an asshole, and there are children starving in Africa."

"And China," Kim reminded me, and pulled my bowl over to examine its contents. "Is this brain tissue?"

My stomach turned over, and I set aside my yogurt. "I'm not hungry anymore. What do you want to do today?"

"Do?" she echoed, and a faintly lost look drifted over her features. "My God, I have no idea. Without Ox around to screw up our plans-what's the point?"

I was dying to point out that, once, the point would have been that she actually _wanted_ to make plans with me, not just make up fictional trips so that he would get moony and expatiate(SAT word, yay!)on how much he loved her. Instead, I just said, "Why don't we go shopping? It's been ages since we've been to that place . . . what's-it-called . . . remember? Uh-" I snapped my fingers as it came back to me, "Year-Round Christmas! That's it!" We'd found it our first year at Shibusen; the weirdest little thrift shop, dedicated to selling nothing but Christmas items year-round. As you might have guessed from the name.

"Um . . . I don't know . . ." Kim said slowly. "I was sort of hoping . . ." she blushed, and stopped there.

"Hoping that Ox would call?" I guessed dryly. I hated sharing Kim with a boyfriend; but it made it easy to guess what she was thinking because it was always something unbearably soppy.

"S-sorry," she mumbled sheepishly, fiddling with her napkin. "I know this isn't like me."

"It really isn't. I miss being the Badass Sisters." I piled the remains of our breakfast onto a tray and stood up. "Tell you what. We'll have a girl's day in-rent some movies, eat popcorn and ice cream until we're sick, and stay up so late, we're going to bed tomorrow. Sound good?"

"Sounds good." Kim smiled at me, though it looked a little forced. I guessed that she really missed Ox.

"Okay. I'm going to run an errand-you pick out, like, ten movies from the common room. I'll get the food on my way back," I instructed.

"Captain, my Captain!" Kim saluted, looking a little more like her perky self, and then giggled. "Ox does such a good impression of that-you should see-he looks just like-" She kept babbling on, even as I walked off(which, yes, was a jerk move, but I had places to go!).

I dumped the tray in the cafeteria and headed up to our room, swiping Harvar's shirt from the bed. I had to return it before anything else; and return any weird feelings along with it.

It was just that he was nice, I thought as I crossed the green once more. Nice-ish, anyway. Nice compared to Alan, who was a teensy-weensy bit of a bully sometimes. It was just that he was a guy who wasn't a total idiot, didn't want to go out with me, and said that Alan was a jerk for pressuring me into having sex.

I knocked on Harvar's door, feeling silly and self-conscious. Boys were staring; whispering; and one whistled. Just as the door opened, I saw Alan turn the corner-shit!-and I quickly dived into the room, pushing Harvar out of the way so that I could slam the door shut.

"Whew!" I sighed, and then noticed that I had unintentionally shoved him so hard that he had landed on his ass and was now glaring up at me.

"You do have the prettiest eyes," I told him, hoping that he would forget that I'd just body checked him. "Don't know why you wear glasses all the time."

"Why are you here?" he asked, apparently not in the mood to be appeased. I held up his shirt, which was balled up in my sweaty fist; he made a face. I could almost see how disgusted he was by the wrinkles.

"You could have handed it to me and walked away," was all that he said, though whether it was out of politeness or because he had given up trying to get me to be neat, I didn't know. I shrugged sheepishly. "I, uh, saw my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. Alan." I wasn't actually sure if we were broken up or not-all I knew was that I didn't want him seeing me going into another guy's room the day after we'd broken up. I would be labeled the school slut for the rest of my _life_.

"So you hid?" Harvar raised one eyebrow. He really was excellent at saying the most obvious things as if they were absurd.

"Yes, I hid!" I snapped. "I didn't want to see him, and I wanted to give your stupid shirt back so, here!" I threw it at him; it unfolded in midair and draped itself across his torso. "It's back!"

He just stared at me, totally unimpressed. He made no move to get up from the floor.

"Don't _look_ at me like that! I'm really pissed right now!" The more he didn't talk, the greater an urge I had to fill the silence with words; not because I had to, but because I _could_. Unlike Kim, who always listened to my stories ready to pepper me with questions and interjections, he just let me ramble on, even when I was making an idiot of myself. "My best friend's so freaking obsessed with her boyfriend that she won't even leave her room when he's gone in case he calls, and we never go out just the two of us anymore except on missions, and even on _those_ Ox manages to come along. And now my boyfriend is really being a major jerk but if I dump him, he's going to go around telling everyone that I'm a freshman slut, which is so totally _wrong_ but that's what he says about all of his exes, and I just wanted to give you your dumbass shirt back and for crying out loud, what respectable teenage boy keeps a portable steamer in their room?! You aren't supposed to care about wrinkles!"

I threw up my hands and leaned back against the door, looking at Harvar. "Nothing?" I asked. "No comment?"

"You'll just tell me to shut up," he observed.

"Damn straight. Want a smoke?" I climbed over him to his bed, which was surprisingly still unmade, and cracked open the window so that I wouldn't get him in trouble.

"Is this going to become a habit?" he asked as I lit up.

"Is what?" I replied, around a mouthful of blissful nicotine.

"You being in my bed." He got up from the floor, letting his shirt fall away, forgotten(the shirt I'd thrown, not the one he was wearing. What kind of scenario do you think this is?), and sat next to me on the bed, leaning one elbow on the windowsill as he took a cigarette from me.

"If it is, I'm making you bring your own smokes," I said, and blew a stream of it in his direction. This time, he didn't cough as he inhaled, just closed his eyes as though indulging himself. "I shouldn't let you encourage my bad habits," he murmured.

"What will you let me encourage?" I asked, grinning. It had been too long since I'd talked like that-just easily trading words back and forth, not delving into the logistics of hair gel or what Ox meant when he said "I'll call you".

Harvar held my gaze for a second longer than necessary, and stopped throwing the ball back to me. We smoked in silence for the second time in eight hours. If this was going to be a habit, I considered, it wasn't a bad one. As long as he kept his mouth shut, I could forget that he was a horrible excuse for a human being that had run my meister through with a sword and didn't even have the decency to apologize-and, worse, had been a total jerk to me after I'd just had a fight with Alan.

I finished one cigarette, and was reaching for another when Harvar stopped me, his larger hand guiding my wrist away from the pack with surprising gentleness. "It's a bad habit," he explained when I looked askance. "And I don't want to be an enabler."

"Enabler." I rolled the word around in my mouth, enjoying the feel. "I think I like you as an enabler, Harvar. Enable me to be selfish. And a crybaby. _And_ a smoker." Talking nonsense again; it was my favorite language. For some reason, my companion's eyes were fixated on my wrists as I waved my hands around languidly. I love to gesture while I talk.

"Why?" Harvar asked quietly, still following the movements of my hands.

I sighed, and leaned on the windowsill. "Because it makes me feel . . ." Special? Loved? "important."

If I didn't know better, I would have sworn that the corner of his mouth turned up, ever so slightly, in a smile. "You aren't important," he said.

"You're horrible," I said.

He leaned forwards, towards me, taking the pack of cigarettes from my hand. "And terrible."

"And terrible," I agreed. "I'm beginning to think that you get off on it."

He held my gaze for a second. And smiled.

Like some magic spell, it turned him from an ugly, cranky, pedantic, overgrown lightning rod into something gorgeous, untouchable. He barely even looked like Harvar.

"Oh . . ." I think I swore, probably, but it was barely audible. The sun coming in through the open window turned his skin golden. His eyes were brown. Everything filtered into my brain as though through a camera, each moment a separate picture.

"Jackie?" His voice was rough, as if he already knew what was going on but was doing his best to pretend that we weren't totally having a "moment".

I seized his face in both of my hands and kissed him. It was crazy stupid, but I did, and the only thing that shocked me more was that he actually kissed me back; fiercely, restlessly, forceful in a way that neither surprised nor threw me. This wasn't some idiot of a third-year boy. This was Harvar, and nothing he said or did could hurt me, because I didn't care what he thought.

That's what I told myself, anyway.

He pulled away from me briefly, grabbing my hands and pressing kisses down my wrists. His mouth was hot, his tongue sliding across my skin in a way that didn't exactly seem orthodox. I was regretting that last cigarette; it was hard enough already to breathe without smoke clogging the air; and then he returned to my mouth, filling me with the scent of ivory soap and Marlboros and salty skin cells.

I freed my hands from his grip, cupping his face, pulling him closer, pulling myself closer, too, until we were two beings occupying the same space, and his fingers dug into my thighs, and mine gripped his shoulders, and I suddenly realized what was going to happen next.

And that, no matter how quickly it was going down, I didn't want to stop.

I somehow had enough thought left to work the hair tie out of his black locks; that was when he seemed to realize it, too, because he gasped into my mouth, less than stoic for once, and slid one arm around my waist. He was shaking, actually shaking-well, so was I. I bunched up the fabric of his shirt, pulling at it; and he left me at once, moving away so fast that I was sure he was about to order me out. Instead, he stripped off his shirt and looked down at me, black hair cascading around his face. There was a question in his pretty eyes.

I nodded.


	3. Jackie's Boyfriend Appears(who cares?)

Chapter Three-Jackie's Boyfriend Makes An Appearance(but, seriously, who cares?)

"I have a boyfriend, you know."

I stifled a groan, closing my eyes and hoping that Jackie would think that I was asleep. I was beginning to realize that she never shut up. Ever. And while her babble was marginally less annoying than it could have been, and sometime bordered on something halfway intelligent, I still didn't want to hear the "I-cheated-and-man-I'm-such-a-slut-but-ooh-you-were-so-hot" monologue that girls so favor.

"That could be a problem," Jackie went on, unconvincingly. She didn't sound about to launch into a speech about how amoral she was. She sounded sleepy and amused and like, well, Jackie-drawling and sardonic and slightly vulnerable. "Probably. Although, I could tell him about it . . . that would _really_ piss him off." She grinned and propped herself up on my pillow, her hand cradling her chin. "Whaddya think? Maybe we could go tell him together. You could do that thing where you stand around looking badass until he pees himself."

"Your boyfriend isn't my problem," I told the ceiling, and she pouted, rolling onto her back with a rustle of sheets. "You're no fun. I'm trying to plot my revenge, here."

"Is that why you slept with me? Revenge?" Not that I cared. I was just asking because-because-because I was gathering information to determine how to proceed. There was nothing emotional in that. At all. It was a highly scientific endeavor, and one that Ox would be proud of(if I ever told him of the whole debacle, which I wouldn't, because he would lecture me ceaselessly about disrespecting a girl's virtue).

"Revenge," she mused, looking over and reaching out one finger to trail down my cheek. My skin broke out in goosebumps, which was a purely physical reaction that I had nothing to do with and did not mean that I had feelings for her. Because I didn't. "And you're pretty."

I turned my head, knocking away her hand, and glared at her. "I'm _what_?"

"Pretty," she giggled. There was a moment where I thought I should kiss her-was that proper etiquette?-but I didn't. Her brown eyes flitted to my lips, and she grinned, tracing her thumb around them softly. "You're very pretty."

"Girls are pretty. I am brimming with manly charm and handsomeness."

Jackie threw back her head, laughing, and rolled off the bed, embarking on a search for her clothes. Apparently, she thought I had been joking.

I threw my legs over the other side of the mattress and rested my elbows on my knees. My head was pounding slightly from getting up so fast, and from sleeping at such a strange time. I could tell by the light in the room that it was just past sunset, though the exact time escaped me since I couldn't see the moon and the digital clock that I used to have was smashed by Ox during SAT season, because he believed that anything electronic screwed with brain waves and memory.

"So, what was your reason?" Jackie asked me.

"For?" I grunted, still looking at the floor.

"Y'know. The sex."

The word made me flinch. I tried to cover it up with a few uninspired shivers, but I doubted she bought it. I didn't answer her question. I didn't usually have a _reason_-wasn't the act itself a reason? Somehow, I guessed that she wouldn't appreciate that answer, no matter how honest it was.

"Well, I'm in trouble, anyway," Jackie said, once it had been silent for long enough to be completely awkward. "I went out for ice cream and popcorn and ended up gone for hours. I totally stood Kim up." She sounded more upset over this than over cheating on her boyfriend. She looked over at me, brown eyes unreadable, and said softly, "Tell me again that I'm dating an asshole."

"Why?" I had no idea where she got this crap, I really didn't.

"Just say it. Say it and I'll leave him."

I stared up at her. What the hell for? "Leave him if you want to." It seemed obvious.

Her face didn't crumple or anything, but she turned away from me quickly, hands scrabbling to pull on her jeans. I pretended not to notice the way they trembled. "You really don't care, do you?"

I shrugged.

"Whatever," Jackie sighed, already at the door. "I knew that already." She went to leave, then paused and turned back to face me. "Harvar?"

"Mm."

"Can I come here again?" To her credit, she didn't blush or stammer as she made the request. She just looked at me levelly, speaking in the same nonchalant tone. It made me wonder who the careless one really was.

I shrugged again. "I guess." I had the vague feeling that I should be saying something, doing something, that I wasn't. Was this the part where I asked for her number?

"Right. Well." Jackie stopped, opened her mouth, closed it, and shook her head. "Bye."

"Wait-" I stood up, acting on a ghost of a thought. "I'll walk you . . ." Home? To her door? Even I didn't know what I was saying.

Jackie just chuckled. "Not like that, cowboy." She left my dorm room, shutting the door firmly behind her. I realized that I still wasn't wearing pants. Cursing to myself, I hastily threw on a few things and lunged for the doorknob, throwing the door open as though it was an enemy I wanted to get past only to run into a startled Ox on the other side.

"Harvar!" he yelped in surprise(not that he ever does anything so unmanly as "yelp"), dropping his bags. "What are you-"

I gently moved him to the side, striding out into the hall and looking left and right. Jackie was already gone, but when I passed by the window at the end of the corridor, I saw her crossing the green to the girls' dorm. I knew what this was; this was the part where I ran after her and said and did all of the things that I was supposed to, and a pop song from the seventies started playing and we held hands and walked off into the movie credits. I tried to move, but my legs wouldn't cooperate, and then Jackie was entering the dorm and it was too late.

"Harvar, what's going on?" Ox demanded from behind me.

I watched the dark patch of the door that Jackie had disappeared through. Then I snapped myself out of it and turned around to face my meister. He was watching me with confused concern. Wordlessly, I picked up his bags and carried them into our room, dumping them on his bed.

"Harvar!" He stood in the doorway, paralyzed. "What happened while I was gone?"

For a terrible second, I thought that he had spotted a pair of underwear where it shouldn't be or the used casing in the trash can; but then I realized that he was referring to the state of the room itself. It usually was kept in military-barracks-like order, but with the advent of Jacqueline in my weekend, I'd barely had time to throw yesterday's clothes in a laundry basket.

"Was there an earthquake? A tornado?" Ox demanded, moving through our room as though he was touring a war zone.

"It was a natural disaster," I said, and then added at a lower volume, "a real hot mess." Emphasis on _hot_. In a purely factual sense.

Ox whirled on me. "We have to clean this up right away! I just called my sweet darling, and there's no way that she's coming over to _this_ fire hazard!"

"Kim's coming over?" I asked, feeling unnaturally disturbed by the prospect. Ox nearly glowed with happiness, as he always did when talking about the witch. "Yes. She _missed_ me," he said, sounding about to take off with the joy of it. "Can you believe it?"

I chose to start cleaning rather than give him my honest opinion. Jackie's shoes were under my bed; I surreptitiously shoved them farther in with my toe while Ox rattled on about Kim and dusted his hair gel collection.

"So, how was your weekend?" he finally asked, after exhausting the subject of Kim's slim and pretty neck.

I shrugged, rapidly folding a pile of clothes that had sprung up out of nowhere, for all I knew. I considered possible answers, but every single one of them ended with "and I slept with your girlfriend's weapon.", and that wasn't exactly something I wanted to spread around. I would be fine if it never came out at all, really. My sexual life-not up for discussion. Besides, Death himself couldn't predict how Ox would react.

"I watched True Blood," I finally said, which wasn't an entire lie. I had-for the fifteen minutes between Jackie's first visit and her second.

Ox sighed. "I wish you'd stop doing that. If it ever gets out, you'll ruin both of our reputations."

I graciously did not point out that he had already done that upon several occasions. One of them-where he had dressed as Little Bo Peep to get a part in a play that Kim was in-was particularly fresh in my memories, much as I might wish it otherwise. I stowed my folded pile of clothes back in my wardrobe and began making my bed, praying that the sheets were clean enough to pass unnoticed until laundry day. Ox fussed around me, straightening this and that and commenting every now and then on how messy the place had become in barely two days.

"Are you sure you want Kim to come over?" I finally ventured.

"What?" Ox stopped and stared at me. I wondered if it was because I was questioning him or because I was speaking at all; typically it was easier to just ride out the insanity.

"It's already late," I explained. Ox checked his watch immediately. "It's eight," he said. "Curfew isn't for another hour and a half-actually, make that two, since it's a weekend."

"But it's a school morning tomorrow," I reminded him.

"Okay, okay. That's still an hour and a half from now. Plenty of time to cross the green and back, with maybe a few minutes to visit, as well." He was being sarcastic, an unfortunate habit that he'd picked up from Maka.

I scowled. "Just trying to look out for your precious girlfriend."

"I haven't seen my _precious_ _girlfriend_ in two days," Ox retorted. "And my weapon is being downright objectionable about something that's really none of his business."

"What about your roommate?" I demanded, not as mildly as I should have. "You bringing a witch into our room at all hours of the night-is _that_ none of my business?" I just wanted a minute-one fucking minute-without any girls around, so that I could just _breathe_. Spending so much time with Jackie colored my rational thought into something angry and purple and seeping, a rotted wound of seething emotion.

Ox flushed; he hated when anyone mentioned that Kim was a witch. "You are perfectly free to leave," he said through gritted teeth. "No one's keeping you here."

I knew that Jackie was right-I was a horrible person-but I never contradicted my meister. I never criticized him for fawning over Kim. I never brought up the many times he made us look like fools, or the almost-deadly missions we took so that he could look good. And while everything I did was so that he could live a happy life, I never made any attempt to shake him of his dangerously naive way of thinking. It wasn't because I consciously decided to ignore all of that; it just never bothered me in the first place. I didn't care if he wanted to bring Kim over at night or drag me on a double date as his wingman after he already _got the fucking girl_.

So instead of firing off even one of the nasty comments growing on my tongue, I left, shutting the door gently behind me so that he wouldn't think for a second that I cared enough to slam it.

I passed Kim on the green as she was going in to see Ox; she was alone. She also looked steamed, which might have had something to do with the fact that Jackie had stood her up. I wondered if she knew the reason why, and for some perverse reason, I hoped that she did. And, maybe, that she told Ox.

Which was not a remotely rational desire.

I went to the cafeteria, since the last thing I had eaten was a revoltingly pink cupcake, and made myself a cup of ramen from the emergency supplies kept behind the counter for students who miss the regular meal times. At such a late hour, there was only one other person in the room, someone sitting with their back to me, head bent over a stack of schoolbooks. Ignoring them out of respect for anyone still doing their homework at eight o'clock Sunday night, I sat in the corner and ate quickly, watching the sky outside grow dark.

"What the _hell_?"

The exclamation was loud in the mausoleum-like cafeteria, and I looked up reflexively to see who had spoken and why. There was a vaguely familiar boy standing a few feet from me; the one who had been studying a few moments before.

I looked at him. He looked at me. I couldn't place where I had seen him before, so instead I just pushed my empty bowl away and said, somewhat impatiently, "Can I help you?"

"You're that guy who ruined my date!" the boy accused, pointing at me, as if it wasn't obvious who he was speaking to in the totally-empty-except-for-us room. I studied his face, still trying to figure out who he was. He was completely ordinary looking, except for a blooming bruise around his right eye . . . oh. Jackie's-her whatever. That guy she had been with. What was his name?

"Oh. It's you," I grunted, and stood up. He seemed to take this as an offensive move, because he backed up several steps and raised his hands threateningly. I gathered up the remains of my meal and dumped them into the nearest trash can. Then I moved past the boy, heading for the door.

"W-wait!" he called after me, and I wheeled back around to face him, annoyed. I'd thought that he was _done_. Why couldn't everyone just leave me the hell alone? I folded my arms and waited.

"What did you do with Jackie?" He was arrogant-I could see it now, in the way that he tilted his chin back, narrowed his eyes, stood casually and coolly-but not as flagrantly so as before. Jackie punching him had clearly taken him down a few well-deserved notches, but looking at him still pissed me off.

"I find that a very personal question," I said calmly, which just made him scowl at me more. Was that how I looked all the time? No-I had to look cooler. He just looked like a frowning idiot, with his damnable mouth all pursed up and his already tiny eyes all squinty and hard. A piggy, frowning idiot.

"You better not have touched my girlfriend," he said, which doubtless sounded very macho to his own ears but was more of a wince-worthy cliche to mine. Instead of answering him, I shrugged.

"Well, did you?" he demanded. Not remembering his name was starting to bug me-Jackie had said it a couple of times . . . what did it begin with? L? V? It was something moronic and simple; not at all a noble title like, say, Harvar D. Eclair. Or Ox Ford. Just saying.

Whatever-his-name-is was getting impatient, shifting uncomfortably and looking less cocky by the second. Probably he had imagined his manly confrontation going much better than it was.

"Sorry," I said, not sorry at all, "but do I know you?"

"Why-" he started, going as if to punch me but then reining himself in. He repeated, "Why-" The stuttering thing was really getting on my nerves.

"Why what?"

"I'm talking about Jackie!" he finally yelped. I kind of wanted to give him a prize for finally speaking in a grammatically complete sentence. "Jackie O! What the hell have you done with her?"

"I've never met Jackie O.," I said, starting to enjoy pissing him off. "But I would really like to-her husband was a great man."

"Not that-" He made a noise of frustration, his hands balling into fists. "Jackie O. Lantern. She's my girlfriend and you better not have touched her!"

"Oh? She's _your_ girlfriend?" I unfolded my arms and thrust my hands into my pockets. "That's funny. She never mentioned that when she threw herself at me."

"She _what?_!"

Yes. I was definitely enjoying this.

"It was annoying, really," I grunted. "On second we're talking, and the next, she's ripping my clothes off. She just couldn't wait to do it-so impatient." I scoffed. "And it's not like we even know each other that well."

"You-you-you bastard!" he spluttered. Was his name Eric? Or maybe Aidan? That last one sounded close-I started going through A names. Aaron, Antonio, Alex . . .

"Sorry," I replied, again not apologetic. "Did you want to do her? Looks like I got there first." I grinned, and it wasn't forced in the least. I was actually _happy_ that I was ruining this guy's(Adam? Arthur? Maybe I was on the wrong track . . .)day. Like I said, I'm a horrible person. There was no reason to get all moral about it. "Or maybe-what's that saying? _She's just not that into you_."

A decent guy would have let himself be punched by the scorned hopefully-now-ex-boyfriend(Andrew? Austin? Alden . . . Alden? That sounded almost right-), but I'm not a decent guy, so I blocked the blow and twisted his wrist backwards, ignoring his grunt of pain. After a few minutes of that, I got bored, so I released him and started to leave the cafeteria again. I'd fought people over less, but honestly, I kind of deserved a punch, even a blocked one, so I let it slide.

"What the hell did I ever do to you?" Alan-yes! It was Alan!-howled after me, very dramatically. I rolled my eyes. He really was an asshole-such a cliched asshole of a boyfriend. I was surprised that someone like him actually existed in the world.

Also, I was dying for a smoke.


End file.
